


Not a Word Worth Saying

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Community: sherlockkink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And every time, it's too much, the sight of him; he closes his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Word Worth Saying

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this kinkmeme prompt, although I don't think they were expecting B/C (or something not so cracky): _Family Guy, "Why do you close your eyes when we make love?"_

The first time he fucks Coward, he has to close his eyes. Coward's too much; too eager, too gorgeous, too much sweat sheened skin underneath him, too much worship in every line of his body, in the darkened rim of blue, in the _sounds_ that come from that infinitely appealing mouth. Blackwood can't take it all in, too overwhelmed to make sense of his reaction to the man, and he closes his eyes and lets his thoughts skitter away, lets them fragment on the feel of Coward's skin beneath his palms, the stutter of breath at his shoulder, the sharp bite of nails into his back.

So he misses seeing Coward's face when he comes, which, he reflects later, is really too bad.

The next time, Coward's half undressed – they're both only half undressed, Coward's shirt hanging open, askew, as Blackwood runs his hands up the muscles of his back, legs bare against Blackwood's still clad ones – settling onto Blackwood's cock with a moan and a sigh and eyes fluttering, lashes dark smudges, neck tempting and long, and flushed and _god_ Blackwood closes his eyes and presses his fingers into Coward's lean hips, leaves bruises that mark Coward as _his_.

Misses watching Coward bite his lip as his head falls forward, is taken by surprise when Coward kisses him, latches onto his lip instead, sharp and teasing.

There are many times afterward that Coward is naked, Coward is clothed, Coward is debauched and eager and stunning and always, always becoming more indispensible to Blackwood's well being, his sense of balance, with every glance and touch and quiet support, it becoming more necessary to have Coward's devoted eyes on him, to reel him in any time he licks his lip and kiss him, to cup his cheek whenever his expression turns too still, have him turn his face into it and smile, slow and sweet and settling warm in Blackwood's chest.

And every time, it's too much, the sight of him, the fear of what Coward might see in his eyes; he closes them, and always, always, misses the fear equal his own, spread across Coward's face when he lifts his eyes and Blackwood's are closed.

They are lying together, in a bed wide enough for more than two, but still pressed as closely together as they can, languidly contemplating not getting up today at all when Blackwood runs fingers down Coward's side, tracing the subtle curves of him, and closes his eyes, relying on touch alone.

There's a sharp intake of breath, and then; "Why do you always close your eyes when we make love?" a bare whisper, shocking in its open, wounded vulnerability. He opens his eyes.

Coward's are right there, a scant measure from his, blue too vivid to exist outside of a dream, wide and searching and intense. He's worrying at his bottom lip, and as Blackwood takes a moment to consider, he can feel the slight, slight trembling of Coward's hands against his hip, of Coward's body, tightly strung and ready to flee.

He reaches up and touches that bitten lip, pulls it from between teeth and smooths his thumb across it. Considers his words carefully, and rejects them all. Words are useless, are worthless, and he leans in and kisses Coward instead, as carefully as he can, a plea, a promise, his eyes open.

Coward leans away a fraction, and – doesn't even whisper, not a sound passing those lips – but Blackwood can feel them forming words against his, and know Coward is repeating himself, is not reassured by silence.

"Because," Blackwood says, and stops. Places his hand over Coward's heart, beating wildly in his chest, and fights the urge to curl his fingers in, leave reddened marks on the skin. "Because I am afraid that if you see how much I love you, you will run," and he can't believe he's said it, can't believe he's said it, can't…

Coward stills, and then, "Henry," he whispers, breathes it out like it's the only word of note, " _Henry_ ," and curls both his hands behind Blackwood's neck, kisses him, short kisses interspersed with slightly frantic laughter. " _Henry_ ," and he's so happy, it's too much. Too much, but Blackwood can't wish it away, can't even want to.

Too much, but his eyes stay open.


End file.
